tales of a girl in the city

juillet 07, 2005


It is amazing how cool you can be with members of the opposite sex when you truly don't care about them.

Em and I head home, nixing French fries, but I don't reveal that info to the Pink Tie, Whaleboy, Batman Triumvirate.

Text from a random number that I assume is Whaleboy's: "Why'd you leave?"

Me: "We'd a craving for junk food."

WB: "Home at 11?"

Me, two hours later, as I'd no urgent need to respond: "Who said we went home?"

Five seconds later, he was back with a response. I was bored, so I turned the phone off and curled up with Lenny.

Three days later, the texts were still coming.

WB: You out tonight?

Me: Nope. Who am I talking to?

WB: Whaleboy. But I can hand the phone to Pink Tie or Batman if you want.

Who cares? I don't write back.

Then, several more days pass. By now I've forgotten their real names. Batman's I don't think I ever knew, but Whaleboy's and Pink Tie's both began with "J." Confusing.

WB: Hey, it's {insert J name # 1 here}. Wanna come out tonight?

I feel like responding, so I write: "Hey, J-name # 1. (who I assume is Whaleboy because he's the one who took my number) Can't tonight. Going home to Wisconsin."

WB *as if catching me with a clever ploy*: "It's actually J-name #2 writing."

I have no idea what's going on. I guess I'd mixed up the two J names and called Whaleboy by the wrong one? But, whatever. Since when does text messaging feel like algebra?

Now another unknown number is sending me a text. I gather this one is from Pink Tie.

PT: That wasn't me just now, you know. I didn't get your number, remember?

I don't care.

Then from WB: Pink Tie has your number now.


WB: One of us is married. Remove the number from your phone of whichever one of us you think is married.

Oooh. What do I win if I'm right? Come on.

My cozy little living room is suddenly being tainted with too much....boy. This is so fifth grade.

WB: Who do you think it is?

Is he serious? Enough.

Me, back to both boys: Then one of you shouldn't be on the roof of the Met picking up women.

And I turn my phone off.